


I'll love you whenever

by angelfiregirl80



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, F/M, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-02 10:37:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 8,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12725001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelfiregirl80/pseuds/angelfiregirl80
Summary: Inspired by Notjustmom's incredible works, specially Twenty Six and Twenty Seven. Loved the transition to a soulmates - inspired story. Hope she aproves...





	1. A thousand years/A thousand deaths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notjustmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/gifts).



> Inspired by Notjustmom's incredible works, specially Twenty Six and Twenty Seven. Loved the transition to a soulmates - inspired story. Hope she aproves...

A thousand years, I've waited for a thousand years. My body has seen war, famine, disease, pain... unbearable pain. My fingers have gone through many bodies, all dead ones; and my soul... my soul has wandered alone for over a thousand years.

\---

I've died a thousand deaths. Once I was a still-born; my soul didn't even have a chance to enter my body before I had already died. Another time I died in a brawl... ah! a well-aimed knife, straight to where it mattered, but I had saved "The Bard" himself.

 _Commendable_ , my action was considered as commendable, at least that's what I read a few years later, when I was five, yet again...

 

 


	2. I feel you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I had a bit of time in my hectic day. Working twenty one days in a row is killing me!!! But I do hope you enjoy this chapter and forgive my many mistakes. Thank you for reading and Happy Sherlock!

My left shoulder stings, once again my left shoulder stings, which means I'm alive. Which time is it this one? The tenth, the twelfth? Always my bloody left shoulder... why? At leats this time I didn't die. What life is it this time? The tenth? The twelfth? I am, once again, a soldier. Why couldn't I be a milkman... given its the right century to be that... or... never mind... But this time, I saw his eyes... Finally!

\--

I feel it, once again, my chest aching, left shoulder, always the left shoulder. Which time is it this one? The tenth? The twelfth? But something is different now, he's still alive!

\--

What year is it? I open my eyes and find myself in hospital. It smells clean enough to assume a couple decades have passed since I last died, or well, since I last was born.

Memory?

Many memories. Nineteen something? Hopefully yes...

 _Eighteen eighty_. A voice whisper inside my head.  _Not the time yet._ But something is different...


	3. I see you...

Memories flood my mind, so many memories!

Mary?

Oh, yeah... Married her several times, whenever I don't die... or she's simply writen off the latest script of my life, depending on who's writing it...

But there are those eye...

A nurse? A doctor?

And then, the memory hits me like a train... Are there trains yet?

A man beating down corpses; Me? I'm just waiting for my own turn to be beat down. And then, eyes the colour of the ocean look down at me; and I could feel, with my soul, how he mourns for my loss.

\--

I'd seen it. Was it last year or the last century? Always too late, always at the morgue. Is it "morgue" the correct term? Or not yet? Which century is this one? Blasted memory, remembering everything but which year is it... So many lonely years, only to find him dead once again...

\--

Headache gone, body turned to nothing. Disease? Much better, no longer lingering. JUST SHUT UP! Just shut up and let me leave, or live... which one would be this time?

London, same cesspool since it was named London... And as usual, cue Stamford, is it Stamford this time too? But something's different. His eyes...

\--

Here he is, finally! Which century? Nineteen something? No? Yes? Hundred more? Hundred less? Eighteen something? Sixty? Ninety?  _Eighteen eighty_ , the voice inside my head whispers and I shake my head. Cocaine must be to blame.

\--

This time, oh this time! The lazy universe has intertwined their lives, but centuries still, to be what they are to be... 


	4. At first

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!!! So, I'm in my free week so I'm updating all I have of this story... and then maybe... have you wait for about a month, unless I finish it the next couple of day. Thank you for reading!!! Happy Sherlock!

The world had seen its first dawn and souls wandered on their own until they found their mates. Once the miracle happens, they would hold "hands" and would be joined in an eternal embrace.

At first, the souls were together all the time, joined in love and understanding. Shapeless, Sexless. Faithful to one another. They moved together for millions of years, watching the world turn, move, change, be... And they simply were...

Catastrophe struck the peaceful soul-haven. A new being evolved and changed the face of the earth. At first, the changes went unnoticed, a few souls wandering alone, then together once again, then... Then, taking forms, making thoughts, being alone longer, longer than longer.

\--

The first ever thought, "It burns," is attributed to my soulmate, The "scientist" he is.., always touching, tasting, smelling, everything... Then, he said it. Grunted? Oh! How much language has evolved, to the point I'm writing to you in English, of over 6.909 different languages. I've been translated to many since the first attempt I made to tell our story.

My "horse",,, the horse. How many years does it have now? Thousands, I think... That was the first time I made an attempt to "write" about him and what he had done to the horse... "Experiment" ha called it... Suffice to say it ended up a wonderful red...

I'm the "writer", in case you were wondering. 

Us, soulmates, as you might've already guessed, always come in pairs. And us, as a pair... 

Suffice to say, my better half knows how to get us in trouble... 


	5. A matter of souls

As soulmates go, sometimes we're separated for longer periods of time than first planned; ever since humans became "sapiens"... as if "just thinking" has anything to do with "feeling"...

Heard of Oedipus? Well... writers tell it quite like it was, except... except he was in love with his father... unfortunately? Us souls are meant to be together, even if we're son and father, even if belief systems, or matters of religious faith, condemn us to "eternal fires and rage," The Borgias ring a bell? It wasn't exactly his sister...

In our haven, separations used to last milliseconds. We leave our soulmates, or go with them, live for a while, learn, enjoy, become and come back.

But for a while now, things have been different. How, you may ask? Well...

I've been writen in a story, where we are ever friends and never lovers. But I'm jumping ahead.

I mean, how can we just _be_ _friends._ I mean, I have "friends" -funny little word to describe beings that were there, are there, and will be there for each other for eons- that simply know me. Ever found a stranger and clicked? Instantly? Well... "soul-friends" do that, more often than not, and these "friends" help us find our mates, they help us look for them... or direct us to them, for example, my "friend" M... And yet again, I'm jumping ahead. 

We souls share a particularity, or peculiarity? We... become... as soon as we're acknowledged as something, we become. We become... something... sometimes we´re wrtien, others, just imagined, and more often than not, we're born.

 

 


	6. ... and it was written...

"I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street."

_I know you, come live with me again. Let's start over. I know I've lost you many times, I won't do it again._

And so, it was written...

_...I fear that it is a cost which will give pain to my friends, and especially, my dear Watson, to you... believe me to believe my dear fellow, very sincerely yours..._

_A deceit, an awful deceit. To save our souls._

_It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write these the last words in which I shall ever record the singular gifts by which my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes was distinguished. In an incoherent and as I deeply feel, an entirely inadequate fashion, I have endeavoured to give some account if my strange experiences in his company..._ _[I abandoned you and this happened... Because I left... But I tried]... we have endeavoured to clear his memory by attacks upon him whom I shall ever regard as the best and the wisest man whom I have ever known._

A hoax, such was written, to kill me, yet, I was asked back. A hoax, an awful hoax. To save our love.

\--

Upon his return, I was so... angry. But I love him so... but it was too late...

\--

And I returned, I was so... scared. But I love him so... but it was too late...

 

 


	7. Reasons that are not reasons

"As I was saying... writing?"

"Sorry for interrupting"

"Hush, love, These are your memories, too."

"Should we tell them as such?"

"How else then, pray tell, should they be told?"

"Dunno." Sherlock shrugs in that way he has when he's unsure of something but wants to pass as nonchalant. I keep typing our latest case and he snorts as soon as he reads the tenth "brilliant" in my recount of the facts.

\--

As I was writing, we become. And my soulmate and I became under the pen of a writer, but not before we almost lost each other...

Didn't you know? Soulmates can lose one another, but this happens ever since one soul "killed" the other. Heard of "Cain and Abel"? Different names depending on language and belief system... Which is why I call the dawning of humanity a catastrophe, As soul-kind goes, we souls have a way of doing things, as I said...wrote...?

Always get lost with verbs and actions... FOCUS!

We part ways and then return to each other, we always find each other, but at times, more often now than ever, it takes many lifetimes for us to find each other...

Ever since "Cain" killed "Abel", souls were punished, you see... soul-kind frowns upon killing, especially when you kill your soulmate for reasons that are not reasons...  


	8. Chapter 8

"Cain" chose to kill and all souls became blind to one another, only able to see the light at the sight of our mate. We're condemned to wander alone until we find each other.

Sounds harder than it is? Not at all. Is it easier than you believe? Not at all. We just wander blindly for eons, until we're able to truly see... And to truly see... Means you have to let go...

Fear

Anger

Hate

Love...

...Pride

You must let go of every "need" you've ever had, be satisfied with what you already have, be happy... or... die and be born, be cursed for all eternity, until you just... LET.GO!

\--

We "first" met a long time ago. He was already dead and I carried bodies. I didn't recognise him at first. I was blind with rage. Rage to find that he's died from an arrow to the left shoulder. Very well placed the damn thing was... nicked an artery in an artful way.

One of the many faceless soldiers, no family, no friends. MEAT... and a wandering soul. Can't remember the year, but I remember the ache, all over my body, my heart clenching, my gut wrenching, hands quivering, a faceless being asking me to wait. WAIT!

\--

We soulmates guide each other, help each other overcome in times of need, stay calm in times of sorrow...

\--

"Love?"

"Yeah?"

"Come."

"Where to?"

"Just come?" John extends his hand and I just take it, going willingly to whenever he leads, because I trust him. And John, my John, takes my hand and squeezes it softly, acknowledging the trust, guiding me.

Suddenly, I jerk awake and breathe, needing the air more than anything. I know what to do know, I know where to go. John is guiding me. I can still feel his hand in mine, but it wasn't my John, although it was.. I have to come back. 

\--

We soulmates are whispers to the ear, a voice that says no, a last thought, a last word...

_Conscience_

\--

"Please, God, let me live."

"Rache."

"Being Mary Watson was the only life worth living."

"I don't want to die."

"I love you."

\--

There is a lesson to be learnt. To forgive. Not the other but oneself. There will always be a soulless soul, a mateless mate. There will always be just one of us.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry for not updating all I have, but I've been a bit busy. I'll post all I can this afternoon before I have to leave for work again., Thanks for reading and happy Sherlock!

Souls have memories, old memories that usually come to our minds in a rush. We remember a specific taste or smell, or have the memory of touch or sight. Memories of past lives.

\--

I sit comfortably in my chair, we're done with the repairs and my John has moved back with me. We're still settling at home, at Baker Street, and now we're talking more than ever, I have decided to tell him all about my memories. It's time, and I know he'll understand. I'm sure he will.

I hear him coming up the stairs, he's bought milk, not a trying day, good mood, he's whistling our tune... Good day to talk...

He says hi to me with that smile and kisses my forehead, then sits right in front of me and he knows, he always knows...

"I'm ready." He says firmly and I know it's time.

\--

The first ever thing I remember is collecting flowers. "Samples," for medicine, to try them on the sick. A "patient" came, nothing to be done but wait. Now I know she was to be your mother in the near future.

Seventeen, perhaps younger, two kids for the count and a third on the way -not you- not yet anyway-. The minute I saw her I felt... love... such a deep love, and fear, so much fear... I lost you that day without knowing who you were, or why I felt the way I felt. I had no idea of you...

The last thing I remember is being at Socrates' trial. Sad day for many of us, a true teacher...

\--

_Abel dying again under the hands of Cain..._

\--

After that, there's darkness and confusion, a long wait alone, then I was born with a scream and the memory of loss.

\--

I look at him as he's lost in the memory and a sudden rush of sadness overcomes me. Suddenly I start recalling what happened to the other me, the first one of me I remember. Sherlock can sense my distress and reached for me, his hand in my knee helps with the panic and clears the images.

\--

I was in Egypt then, the year Socrates died, 399 B.C. I have a faint memory of blinding pain in my chest -I guess it was the loss of my future mother- I couldn't breathe for almost a minute, but once it was over I turned back to my papyrus.

I was a scribbler.

\--

"Always the writer." Sherlock chuckles and I feel it in my chest. I blush and he rubs my knee, encouraging me to keep talking.

\--

I was a scribbler and had just heard of King Amyrtaeus' death; a couple of days later I was called to write about his successor, Nepherites... I mean... Nefaarud The First. Something happened on my way to him and I couldn't make it to Mendes, that day I heard about Socrates... The last I remember is a voice, asking me to wait. Next time I opened my eyes I was twenty five, half a century had passed since I last died, 344 B.C. The day of my twenty fifth birthday I sort of had my first memory of you, your voice asking me to wait.

\--

_The lesson to be learnt is... is there a lesson? Not to kill? Kill what? A body? A soul? Brother kills brother since the beginning of time. And we wander..._

 


	10. Lazy Sunday

I'm a soul in charge to see them, know that they are together... in my particular universe... They sit in silence for hours now, comforting in the presence of the other. The sound of their even breathing losing the battle against the uprising of the home fire.

You could hear it roaring if you pay close attention. It warms them, their joined hands, their feet that touch every now and then... They rest... timelessly.

\--

A lazy Sunday. Rosie is playing on the new rug with the bee I gave her for her first birthday. She giggles every time the bee buzzes and lightly vibrates in her tiny hands.

John watches her fondly; and closely, she's begun to walk and is now a danger to herself, so we must keep a close eye on her.

I feel relaxed, that's a first, watching Rosie too, concentrating on her helps with the sudden flashbacks. John sighs and I know he's thinking about the dreams. Ever since we "opened" our eyes -with a memorable first kiss- we've been sharing dreams.

"How old were you?" my John's voice sounds hoarse and strange, he might be channeling.

"Fifteen, maybe sixteen" I shrug, but I concede, I want to bring peace.

"Why can't I remember your face? He asks with dismay.

"Because we had just misses each other" I reply quietly; he sighs again so I decide to tell the story. "My first ever memory of being near you..." I look up and stare at the ceiling for long seconds, reach for my tea with measured movements, as if I were in my Mind Palace, wandering; he believes he, my sweet John, I'm afraid of him finding out why all this happened to us.

"I was by the ocean, must have been, perhaps, two hundred and twenty one B... C." I smirk and wink and he laughs, his hearty laugh. I love the way he laughs, but he isn't distracted, one look and I know he's determined to hear the story.

"I had just learned how to fish, father taught me. I was standing there, watching the ocean, waiting for father to prepare the fishing gear; when a sudden rush of happiness overcame my every sense. I couldn't concentrate on father's words, I had no idea why I felt that way."

My John sighs and looks at me, a small smile on his beautiful lips. He licks them and I'm lost, it's so hard to concentrate when he does that. He reaches for my hand and squeezes it softly. I think we're done, but he starts to talk. 

"I have a similar memory, a beach, the same year. I guess we truly "just" missed each other." He quotes in the air and he sighs sadly. "But... but I felt a happiness hard to describe. I remember smiling the entire day." And there it is, his luminous smile, my conductor of light. 


	11. Hanno and Kanmi

[Carthage](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carthage). Beautiful city, incredible fishing spots, amazing beaches. Two souls that find each other, without knowing their journey together, in this world, has just started.

Hanno is twenty one, he has just arrived to the beach. Calisthenics are a must if you want to be part of [Hannibal](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hannibal)'s Army. Father is proud. Hanno was selected personally by Hasdrubal himself a couple of years prior. Being part of a prominent family helps. Owning a merchant fleet and being rich helps even more. Hanno's family is well known, therefore, Hanno has the right to join Hannibal's Army in the rank of Captain.

Kanmi is sixteen, his father will send him to Greece to study at the [Lyceum](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyceum_\(Classical\)), under [Aristo of Ceos](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aristo_of_Ceos), the recently appointed scholar of the [Peripatetic school](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peripatetic_school), and this might be the last he sees his son, after all, he's close to sixty. Kanmi is learning to fish... boring... but he indulges his father who's setting the lines and patiently teaches his youngest to place the barb correctly, before showing his renown "arc" and the correct way to strike, before boarding the boat. A servant will paddle.

Hanno is running, his lungs are on fire but he keeps on running. His legs are leading him closer to the shore and he just follows, without a second thought. In the distance, he sees two men, one is the famous Malchus; named after his great...something... grand...something...father, the king. His family name is well known, he is a renowned boat builder and owns the largest shipyard in the merchant harbor; building ships both for commerce and war. 

Hanno's father, Hiram, has several business deals with Malchus. The other, he doesn't recognise, probably one of Malchus' sons.

Kanmi sees the man running to the, his head is buzzing, his heart beating madly, he feels utter happiness and can't stop smiling. His father's voice brings him back. Turning, he climbs on the boat, curious about the man running to them, he tries to catch a glimpse, but they set way to a flock of seagulls, sure to find fish there.

Hanno runs faster, he can hardly breathe. He feels immensely happy, full of life. He tries to catch a glimpse of the men, but he is too late.

\--

Funny fact!

FUNNY? 

Well...

Souls have a way to find each other... sometimes a little too late...

\--

I can see him shivering as he remembers. I reach out and his fingers touch  one. I can see exactly what he sees.

"We were very close to meeting each other." He smiles, oh how I love that smile. "I didn't know you het,  it somehow, I knew you were somewhere, out there, waiting for me." I brush a curl away and look into those ocean like eyes, "loving me as much as I love you."

\--

Hanno left the next month to train as a soldier.

Kanmi left the next month to become a scholar.

\--

He knows what I know, he sees what I see. But there's one thing... He knows when I die, but I never seem to know when he does. It seems as if he's lived for ever. I have to know, I need to know. "Did you die?" 

He blinks slowly, as if confused, those mercurial eyes trying to focus.  "I always die," he looks at me with love and sorrow. "But I always come back and always remember that I've lost you..." I see tears in his eyes so I reach for him, the distance unbearable.

\--

Hanno never went back to the beach. He died during the [Battle of Zama](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Zama) in 202 B.C. he barely saw 40.

In October 19th 202 B.C. Kanmi wakes up early, a sudden sadness invades him. He pours himself some [Kykeon](https://www.ancient.eu/Kykeon/) and spikes it with some hemlock, that effectively takes away the sadness. The last thing he sees is the man from the beach running away from him.

In the late morning, a servant comes to wake his master, he's late for school. The servant tries, but there's nothing to be done. He was lucky to turn 35.

\--

The real lesson to be learnt is that our lives are not our own.

\--

"Taking your own life. Interesting expression, taking it from who? Once it's over, it's not you who'll miss it. Your own death is something that happens to everyone else.  Your life is not your own, keep your hands off it."

\--

We never saw each other." John mutters, catching his breath once he resurfaces from the memory. I just nod and wander if he looked as beautiful then, that day on the beach, as he looks now.

\--

Maybe you've already guessed our punishment. No? We fell on a loop of endless repetition, closer and closer to meet, but never being able.

The lesson? Complete understanding that our lives belong to others, the ones that love us, cherish us, wait for us...

"...everything that you have was given to you. You did not make a single hair on your head so you cannot own anything..." [*](http://www.awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=2167) 

How were we forgiven? Don't  jump ahead... 


	12. Marcus and Titus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I just had some free time, yay! Sorry for the delay, work is crazy. To my few, faithful readers, I thank you for following my silly fics. Happy Sherlock!

"Next death I remember..."

"Must we be so... morbid?"

"I thought you might like it..." I chuckle, but he frowns, "being the only Consulting Detective and all..." I try as a joke, but I can see the despair in his eyes. "Sorry, love..." I mutter, mortified. He reaches for my hand, pulling me to sit on his lap. 

"Time for food," he announces and distracts me with a kiss; before pushing me softly, so I'm forced to stand up. I see him, fighting the next memory. Sometimes is quite hard.

"Thai?" I ask with the hope of distracting him, though not as successfully as he did.

"Please?" He mutters as he stoops to pick Rosie up. 

\--

Rome, during the first century B.C. was... convulse. The Roman Republic was agonizing and the new Empire was on the making. [Julius Caesar](https://www.ancient.eu/Julius_Caesar/), along with [Crassus](https://www.ancient.eu/Marcus_Licinius_Crassus/) and [Pompey](https://www.ancient.eu/pompey/), formed a government; but Caesar's ambition was greater than anything else, this is when our story begins.

Marcus Flavius Caelius is playing his house while father checks on mother, she's been ill for a few days now. Since father believes in Rome and nothing else, he doesn't call one of the Greek physicians that offer their services to the town. He leaves the house, pale as death, and little Marcus knows something is wrong. Mother has died of tuberculosis, father is ill and they have to vacate the house. Father dies four weeks later and little Marcus, at his short age of eight, has to go live with his uncle, away from Rome, away from home.

Titus Crispus Selus is playing his lute, concentrating hard on the sounds, when a shrill cry cuts the music. He runs to the room and sees his mother, laying senseless on her bed, blood all over the place and a midwife holding his little brother. Father is called home, mother is dying and he'll have to the decide what to do. An hour later he comes to Titus' room and tells him that they'll be moving. Titus wants to cry, but father just shakes his head. A week later, Titus and his brother are sent away to live with their aunt, away from Rome, away from home.

Titus turns five the day they arrive to [Salernum](http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus:text:1999.04.0006:entry=salernum), his aunt Livia is waiting for them with fruit tarts for his birthday, He eats as much as he's able, thanks aunt Livia and leaves to his room, his lute his sole companion.

Marcus arrives to Salernum four days after father's death. Uncle Claudius hands him a bucket and asks him to feed the pigs. That night, extremely exhausted, he goes to bed before cena is served.

\--

Another fact. When souls are meant to meet, they simply do, but only when is meant to be, not when they want to...

\--

Titus plays the lute like the angels. Aunt Livia congratulates him and allows him to play for hours on end. Titus plays his sorrow every day, but on his fifteen birthday the tune changes and he plays a rather happy song. Aunt Livia is marveled, she praises him, but he just nods, wanting the woman out of his chamber. He's been feeling giddy since this morning, For the first time in ten years his heart is bursting with happiness, inexplicable happiness.

Marcus has become a strong young man. Uncle Claudius can't be more happy. Marcus has proved, time and time again, to be a good son and a good man. Claudius handed him the farm and its thriving under his watch. At eighteen, he's a seasoned farmer. He's learned all about farming and manning farmers, he's also convinced uncle to go into Aquaculture  and the business has flourished, they are trader and have a growing business, though now they have people working for them, Marcus likes to deliver the goods himself, particularly to the most prominent houses.

In the morning he prepares his parcels and goes to the well-known route; but today, today he has a new client and he can't be happier, he'll get the chance to see where Paulla, daughter of Livia, lives. As he gets close to the house he hears the lute, and his heart stops. His pulse quickens and he feels like he's floating. The music runs through his body igniting his blood, heart bursting with joy, eyes filled with happy tears. He walks in a trance and catches a glimpse of unruly raven curls, he thinks is Paulla, but when he sees her sitting close to the yard, he looks away from her and concentrates on the angle playing joyful sounds. 

Titus feels his skin start to burn in a way he's never felt before. His hair bristles and hes forced to stop playing; as he turns to see, he catches a glimpse of a blond head. His heart starts beating madly and for a second he thinks it's going to burst.

\--

For a minute there you thought it was really that easy, didn't you?  

\--

Marcus is walking to the window, but an ill placed stool makes him trip. Paulla runs to him and helps him up. They share an awkward smile, Marcus delivers the parcel, collects his money and leaves.

Titus sees the blond heard walk away and a lost memory of a beach day invades his mind. 

\--

"We almost met," Sherlock sounds wistful. I'm forced to nod, the memory still linger painfully in the back of my mind.

"Lost chances," I mutter, just to say something. Sherlock looks at me and I can see all he want to say. I make myself nod again and he stands, takes his violin and plays that tune he played when we almost met. 

We get lost in the sound, even though it's a happy tune, the sad undertones are there, loves lost in time.

\--

Marcus is called to join the army, Uncle Claudius is not happy, but when Caesar himself calls you, there's nothing left but to leave and serve. He's twenty one after all. The year 55 B.C. marks a change in Marcus' life, he is sent on his first campaign as part of the seventh legion, Legio VII Claudia, to Britannia. The first was a hard campaign against the barbarians, but he manages to survive and help others, he's recognised and praised by Caesar and granted a new rank.  _Decanus_ of the Pia Claudia, 8 men under his command. 

The second campaign over Britannia is more successful, Marcus' men helped Caesar and once more, he's granted a new rank. The military has also given him another chance, Apart from being a Decanus, he is considered a _Capsarin_ and is allowed to study medicine. The Legio VII campaigned over Gaul and served Caesar during the entire Gallic Wars. Marcus climbed ranks, finally becoming a Centurion and a Medicus, specialised in combat surgery. 

Titus travels to Rome to study Rhetoric, his father wants him to be a good Rhetor, be part of the public life, just like he is. He's learned geography, music, literature, geometry and mythology; over the next few years of his life, which were already planned, he does as father tells, so he goes to Greece to become a philosopher. Titus excels in all his studies. He's become one of the best  _Orators,_ talking about music and literature, discussing criminal law and the best way to punish and capture said criminal. He starts working with members of the senate and is well known. At eighteen, he's as known as Caesar. The year 55 B.C. becomes the year of Titus, as he goes to Greece to become a philosopher.   

\--

"Your brother once told me you had the mind of a philosopher." John whispers, Rosie is asleep in his arms and he doesn't want to move. 

"He's always my brother," I say with a quiet snort. "He likes to play "you poor ignorant souls" once he realises he's my brother," I shake my head, I find it amusing that Mycroft, of all souls, is stuck with me. "I've told you he's always been like he is now."

"Truly old scores and resentments." John bites his lower lip trying not to laugh, but I can see the mirth in his eyes.

\--

By the year 50 B.C. Caesar has conquered Gaul and the Roman Republic is expanding to new frontiers. Caesar isn't happy though, he needs more, so off he goes and proclaims himself Emperor. By year 46 B.C. he's conquered Africa and half of Hispania.

After almost ten years in the army, Marcus is to retire, but he still has a battle in him, so off he goes, the faithful seventh following Caesar to Africa. In the meantime, year 46 B.C. sees Titus teaching, one of the most sought philosophy teachers in Athens, but his father's death brings him to Rome, as he is to take his seat at the senate.

Marcus' Centuria arrives to Thapsacus. The morning of 6 April finds them preparing for battle. Caesar leaves his tent and addresses his men, the mandatory "pep-talk" to raise spirits and points to the always useful and ever present "Roman Spirit" held by the standard-bearer. The sound of trumpets signals the start, confusion, elephants, archers. Marcus holds his position and the battle goes to Caesar. Sadly, Marcus doesn't see the end of the battle, he falls under friendly fire trying to save a fellow legionary.    

Titus feels his heart about to explode. He opens his eyes and finds himself surrounded by several concerned faces belonging to his fellow senators. He's helped home by one of his service men. He asks to be alone to recover. Next morning he doesn't go to the Senate. Last night, he prepares some milk with AKONITON, effectively numbing, and ending, the searing pain. 

\--

"Always a soldier." Sherlock reflects a bit sadly.

"It would seem so." My eyes are still focused on the memory.

"My soldier." Sherlock stands and approaches me in a catlike manner, I love his graceful he is, like a panther stalking a prey. His expression tells me all I need to know; and I know the time for remembering is over as he successfully distracts me from the lingering memory.  


	13. One day

"It's been a long day." I sigh, exhausted, Sherlock is in the kitchen finishing the dishes, for once. I watch him close the tap and reach for the tea towel, turning to face me.

"Feels like centuries have passed," he tries to smirk but I see the weariness in his eyes. Pulling him close, I run my fingers on his hair and he shivers, he's still sensitive from our afternoon tryst. I yawn and he looks down at me, with his smile that's just for me. 

"Rosie is finally asleep." I say around another yawn. 

"Sleep sounds good," He mutters, ever since we first kissed, we've been sharing dreams, we're exhausted, many of the "dreams" turn into horrible nightmares of times lost and gone. Everything is coming back to us in sudden flashes... sometimes rushes of happiness so strong that leaves us giddy for days, others, unbearable pain that renders us useless, the dreams rarely bring comfort, or sense of completion; but now...

I pull him closer, kissing him softly, he smiles leaning down and deepening the kiss. I respond, feeling the urge to be with him, every way I can, anytime I can. "I thought you said sleep," my voice is low and husky, he just kisses me again and lowers his hands to my back. 

"Like sleep, it also involves a bed," his voice melts my insides, my breath hitches and he smirks. "Bastard." I whisper and he just gives me a lopsided smile. I rub his scalp soothingly as a long and faded memory tries to emerge. Sherlock, my genius, senses it and effectively distracts me, kissing that spot on my neck that renders me senseless to everything but him. I'm lost in him, in me, in the kiss, in the need for more, in the now...

\--

Making love

Washing the dishes and buying milk.

Souls make love.

Getting your morning tea and making toast.

Soulmates make love.

Tying a scarf around your neck when it's cold, handing you a pair of gloves while in a case, because you forgot yours, once again, for the thrill of the chase.

Making love.

Usually, more often than not, the phrase refers to an action, generally involving sex between two (sometimes more than, but who am I to judge?) people. But when you're a being, without a defined form or a determined sex, do you make love?

The answer is quite simple. Yes, you do.

By being there.

Shooting a cabbie.

Rescuing you from a lit bonfire.

By waiting.

"I asked you for one more miracle. I asked you to stop being dead."

By listening.

"I heard you."

By seeing...

"I was so alone, and I owe you so much."

"...if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody’s best friend. Certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing... I am a ridiculous man... redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship."

... seeing the other is an act of love, therefore, you make love.

\--

"Coffee!" John is cheerful this morning, it's heartening, it means he's feeling well and happy. It could also be all the sex we're having, but I, too, find myself smiling more often than not, much to my dismay, and John's amusement, while in the presence of others. "Making love," John calls our physical encounters, I feel like rolling my eyes, but the giddy feeling in my chest makes me nod and kiss him again. Who would have thought I was so... physical?

I hear Rosie so I go to fetch her, she sees me and smiles, a warmth spreads over my chest and I reach for her. She immediately clings to me, little hands reach for my neck and hair, head burrowing on my neck, My heart could burst with happiness, it has done so before. 

 


	14. Silas and Nathan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, let me know what you think so far? Is it boring? Is it too slow? Is it really, really, bad?  
> Do comment, and if you will, leave a kudo. Thank you for reading!
> 
> BTW, sorry if this chapter offends anybody, I don't mean any disrespect to religious beliefs or faith, I just write with a certain historic accuracy... I love history...

Stories and histories. Stories may be changed, histories stay as they are, stories mark people; histories, the universe; for example, in 9 out of 10 stories the Titanic sinks, in one, it arrives safely to New York; in history, the Titanic sinks and 1.500 people die. 

S.O.S

\--

John blinks awake and I can see the panic in his eyes. He reaches for me and I rapidly hoñd my hand up to him, he takes it and pulls me close, feeling my pulse. His heart is hammering, he can barely breathe.  _Reichenbach_ _,_ my mind supplies... but which one?

\--

We all know how Pompeii went, right? No need to recall it. Suffice to say they didn't make it, but something changed the minute Claudius didn't take his own life and Flavius didn't die in combat. Sometimes, more often than not, souls like to die together.

\--

Unlike history, stories come and go, unlike history, you can write your own story. Stories. A story could turn into history; for this to happen it must have a hero (maybe in the side of angles, but not one of them), a villain (staying alive), a lady (not in distress, not necessarily, better a BAMF), a child (must be cute as hell, defenseless and innocent, not like the orphan), a friend (Mike rules!, so does Papa Lestrade), sibling rivalry (cue Mycroft's sneer, Sherlock's eye-roll and Eurus manic smile), disgrace for one character (no need to remember the Reichenbach), then their redemption (You _love_ it... Being Sherlock Holmes), a comic relief (Go Mrs. H!!), a fool (Anderson, turn around... you lower the IQ of the entire street); and off course, the main character, death.

Everything must start and finish with death, like in Hamlet.

\--

"Callistus" says the name on the door, and according to the most privileged clients of the establishment, the ones that have paid top money to see his face, he does honour the meaning of the name, for he truly is beautiful. Curly dark hair, watercolour, mercurial eyes, long, slender body, thin but not wiry, a face with cheekbones that could cut, full lips in a cupid's bow. He looks like a walking, living, Greek marble statue, for he seems to be made of marble.

He is the best in the house.   

\--

It was written.

"Do not have sexual relations with a man as one does with woman; that is detestable... If a man has sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They are both to be put to death, their blood will be on their own heads."

And so, we read and accept.

\--

Silas is an exemplary son. Always wakes early, feeds the animals, of the farm, fills his duty, respects father and mother, studies and does as he's told, by father and temple. His blonde head distinguishes  him from his siblings and every woman wants him. He knows this and enjoys the attention, which is why he exercises every morning and pumps his pectorals and abdominals. He knows he can have whomever he wants, be man or woman, but his parents have chosen a girl for him. Maria will become his wife in a fortnight and her dowry, some land, some money and cattle, will come to him and his family. 

Now that Christianity is the talk of the town, Britannia, as much as the rest of the falling Empire, is accepting this new religion and with it, a new set of rules and a belief system that now punishes what was once accepted.

Silas is a good man, but even a good man, knows certain things. Silas and his friends know of these "houses", he's been there a couple of times and has enjoyed the company of many ladies (and not a few men). His father keeps quiet at the table, but when alone, he congratulates him for having many ladies (father doesn't know about his not few men), they know the new precepts, but they also ignore them, most of them simply don't fit in their way of life. But, Silas thinks, what father doesn't know won't hurt him.

\--

"Callistus'" real name was Nathan. Was, because he died the day his mother died and his uncle sold him as a slave, ending up in a clandestine brothel, his body for food and housing. His new name was given to him by the owner, he had  _primae noctis_ and claimed him. After he was done, he kept saying he was beautiful, hence the name. "Callistus" has many clients a day, young, robust men, old, feeble men, smelly, fat, thin, fair, ugly, sweaty, sweet, aggressive, he serves them all, he must. At seventeen, he's still the most wanted boy in the brothel, even though he's been "serving" since he was twelve. "Callistus" has "especial" clients. They bring him fruit, scented oils, clothing; he gracefully accepts every gift and acts as lovers should, making scenes, acting lovingly, jealously, as a soft submissive, as a child. He's learned how to scream, how to moan, how to deceive. After Phares left his room that first night, he cried to sleep, the next morning he felt cold to the core, after that day, he was unable to feel.

\--

Silas is to marry tomorrow. He received father's blessing this morning, and now he's supposed to be getting ready for bed, but sleep is the last thing in his mind. He clings to his tunic and inhales deeply, it still smells of jasmine, it still smells of him... And yet, even though he feels... deeply... tomorrow he's to become a husband. Silas' night goes slowly, he closes his eyes and sees the lines of the body he's had a few hours earlier and for a few hours. The deep baritone ringing in his ears, the silky raven curls making his fingertips tingle, that sinful mouth, all he could see from the man's face.

He knows he's not allowed to touch himself, but he can't help it, he can still feel the tightness surround him, quivering and bringing him to orgasm, then that velvety mouth, doing such delicious things, and once again, tight heat surrounding him. He'd never had sex with the same woman (or man) twice, much less in the same visit, but this time... this time he couldn't get enough, he never felt more... loved... more... alive.

"Callistus" feels, for the first time in many years, he feels, even the cold leaves his body. Every inch of his skin tingles, his mouth still savours the man he had this afternoon, he usually performs one act, never two or three, not even if they pay him to. The deed usually takes 40 minutes, between preparations and the mandatory cleaning; he then rests for 20 minutes and receives the next one. But today, he stayed with the same man for hours -not even getting paid, he returned the money to the stranger- and he enjoyed it. He wanted more.

The spell was broken when one of his regulars came and paid Phares for the night. The stranger left, and he couldn't even see his face...

 --

Silas is a married man, and tonight, he will fulfil his duty as a husband, God willing, he'll impregnate his wife and he'll keep on being exemplary; but he knows he will do it out of duty, because he only loves the man in the brothel. He came to the realisation this afternoon, when he saw Maria and felt... nothing...

"Callistus" waits, perhaps the man will come, today he'll show his face, Hours go by, and "Callistus" heart fills with sorrow, a sudden rush of sadness, memories of a beach and a blond man in a garden come to his mind, yesterday's happiness has evaporated. Phares enters the room and announces he's been sold to the rich man that came last night, He will move to [Dubris](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dubris) and continue his services privately, they leave tonight.

\--

Silas goes to the brothel and asks for the man he had two days ago. Phares recognises him and gives him the news. Brokenhearted, he returns to Maria and tries to forget, unfortunately for him, he's been seen leaving the brothel and his father finds out. He's sent away a week later, wife and cattle on tow. He ends up in [Concangis](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Concangis), relatively close to the cold ocean, memories of that magical afternoon, a lute and a beach always in his mind.

\--

"We lived long loves," my John resurfaces form the memory and reaches for my hand, kissing every finger reverentially. I know he can see the disgust in my face. 

"One I would have preferred not having," I remark; remembering the vile man has shaken me to the core; but my John, my amazing John, knows exactly what to say. 

"If I could, I would have killed them all; your uncle..." He pulls me close and holds me, I feel his rage emanating from every pore, his fists clench to my sides as he inhales deeply and tries to calm.

"I was expensive," I say as way of explanation, "my brother fared it worst, he was... used... by my uncle, then sold to another brothel, he died, eventually, disease ridden."

"Oh God!" I feel my John tremble and embrace him closer, some memories too hurtful. "I... I paid... for you..." He sobs in my neck. I feel desperate, I have to tell him.

"Actually..." I push him softly, so he's sitting facing me on the sofa, he looks back at me, "I put the money back in your pouch; you were asleep for a few moments, your back to me. I wanted so much to see your face. I wanted you to see mine... but... his rules... I could see the ones that paid top money, so I would be... familiar."

"Oh, love!" John touches my face softly and I feel everything melt away. Now, in this life, he's the only one.

"He used to say... that if I showed my face they'll never leave. Only the ones that paid top money and asked for me daily had that privilege, he... he sometimes charged them for just seeing my face..." I grimace and my John kisses my cheeks. 

"I want to delete him from your memory," my John mutters against my neck. I shiver and he smirks. "Looks like I already have," voice low, husky, seductive, and I feel it, like every time, like the first time, fire. 

\--

Silas dies of old age, surrounded by children and grandchildren. Maria, his wife, by his side, his last memory is of raven curls between his fingers, soft skin against his own, the smell of jasmine surrounding him, At 64, his soul finds peace.

"Callistus" dies in his sleep. His master grants him rest that day, he's seen him sad before, bit today he hasn't even eaten. Next morning, his master finds him, he died in his sleep, alone. At 60, his soul finally rests. 

The day, 29 January 410 A.C. 

\--   

I had to give you something, brief as it was; after all, you've waited for so long. As the writer, I can give them a brief respite.

Besides... Us souls have a way of doing, of finding each other, but there is a long way to go still.

Don't break the rules, don't jump ahead, all shall be told in time.


End file.
